For the past month, every couple of days I have been able to go outside and pick myself at least a pint of raspberries from the bushes alongside our porch. Growing up, raspberries, and macadamia nuts, were considered the height of luxury. According to my mother buying pints of raspberries, or leaving out a bowl of macadamia nuts for general consumption, was something that only “swells” did when they wanted to show off. You might get lucky and get a very small jar of macadamia nuts in the toe of your Christmas stocking, but only occasionally would my mother buy a single pint of raspberries for the whole family to share, and then only in the summer. She would carefully parse them out to all of us, perhaps even counting them, while saying under her breath, “these things probably cost about a dime each.” My grandmother in Cleveland had a very large raspberry patch on her farm, with the bushes spread out enough that there was a mowed path between the rows, and you could just saunter down the row, popping them into your mouth. I wanted to move there. Several times my mother tried to grow her own raspberries, but they always failed, and she would look at her shriveled bushes in disgust, and then finally she quit trying. Continue reading
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